


Miracles

by Squid_Ink



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Adoption, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Avengers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Marriage, Miscarriage, Pregnancy, Premature Birth, Stillbirth, currently on back burner but I wanted to at least get the first chapter up, domestic life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-05 21:22:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19048687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squid_Ink/pseuds/Squid_Ink
Summary: Steve and Natasha are willing to do whatever it takes to have a family.





	Miracles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mickeysam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mickeysam/gifts), [toonanimals](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toonanimals/gifts), [beckyg10](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beckyg10/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Keepsake](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16901634) by [Squid_Ink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squid_Ink/pseuds/Squid_Ink). 



> Critique Guideline:  
> 1\. Summarize - tell me what happened in your own words  
> 2\. Analyze - how was the chapter put together, interactions between characters, where you think this is going to go  
> 3\. Critique - what did and did not work  
> 4\. Suggestions - what would you like to see, improvements
> 
> Don't be afraid to leave long reviews, this is why I have this guide.

There was something invigorating about the cold air of the early morning and the silence of the neighbourhood, broken only by the twittering of birds and the slapping sound of his feet. Morning runs allowed him to familiarize himself with the twists and turns of the Liberty Square (it wasn't a square anymore, but more like a sprawling maze of cul-de-sacs, dead ends and neat picturesque suburban houses). Most people were asleep at four in the morning, when the sun started to rise and paint the sky brilliant shades of lilac and gold and peach. Nobody would notice a man keeping easy pace with a car this early in the morning.

Steve rounded the corner that lead to his house. It was quaint: beige sides and a charcoal roof. A mailbox sat proudly at the end of the driveway with the name  _Rogers_  on the side and his address, whenever he saw it a sense of pride welled up in his breast. The house was  _his_ , he owned it out right. He had a place to call home. Below that was the green box for the newspaper. Parked in the driveway was Natasha's sleek corvette, inside the garage was his motorcycle and SUV. He glanced at his watch, it was almost seven, people were starting to head to work and school. He slowed down to avoid people looking twice. It was a balancing act, living here among average people. Nobody knew that their next door neighbours were Captain America and Black Widow. Steve intended to keep it that way. He stopped running and walked the last five hundred feet to his house, arms over his head and enjoying the cool morning breeze. Some of his neighbours gave him a friendly wave and a hello, which he returned.

A content sigh escaped him as he reached his mailbox. The ache in his muscles and lungs was comfortable and familiar, his cheeks flushed. The cool air was drying the sweat and he felt the itching need to shower. The newspaper had come while he was running. "Morning Steve," a nasally put-upon voice said. He looked up to see his neighbour, Henri Valentini (Natasha hated his wife). Henri was a portly man with no chin and beady eyes and a receding hairline. Constantly squinting as if he needed glasses but refused to wear them and his skin was this artificial tint of orange as if the tanning salon he went to couldn't do its job properly. When Sam came to visit one day, he had caught a glimpse of Henri Valentini and said the man reminded him of the senator Sitwell was talking to just before they nabbed him.

"Oh hi," he said, trying to sound casual and open. "Off to work?" he grabbed the newspaper from the box. Henri made a face as he unlocked his sleek black car. "Know that feeling," he said, glancing up when he heard an airplane drone overhead. "I'll have to get going too." He patted his mailbox — gently, gently don't need a dent in it — and smiled. "Gotta go shower and say hi to the missus," he said. Henri offered a grunt in reply as he got into his car. The door thumped shut and the engine rumbled to life. He stood there, watching as Henri drove off. "Good day to you too," he grumbled and headed into his house.

The interior of the house matched the exterior in color. Eggshell white walls and ceiling, a beige carpet that was plush and springy underfoot. The entrance was tile and led into the airy living room with the sixty-inch flat screen tv with 4K and several other specs he didn't understand. It was a house-warming gift from Tony. The couch was from Bruce and the coffee table was from Clint and Laura. It was nice. The rest of the furniture he and Natasha had picked out. The kitchen was large and spacious. The stairs led upstairs to more rooms and a big open one that they have dubbed the loft. A second set of stairs lead down into lower section of the house, which was dubbed the den and was currently housing his weights, a spare bed and various other things they didn't quiet know what to do with.

Tossing the newspaper onto the kitchen table, he drank a quick glass of water before heading up the stairs, smiling as he passed the pictures of him and Natasha on trips and their Christmas Eve wedding. It felt nice. He had come a long way since he was a skinny boy from Brooklyn being denied enlistment. The master bedroom was the first door on the left. It was large, spacious with a king size bed, a vanity and two dressers and a closet large enough to hold both of their clothes. His shield was propped up beneath the window (the sunlight causing the curtains to glow a soft creamy gold). Natasha's cat suit was strewn across the floor, along with her suit case. Her pistols and widow bites sat casually atop his dresser. His wife was sprawled in the middle of their bed, sleeping, her red hair wild and fiery over the white pillow cases. Smiling, he tiptoed through the mine field of her clothes over to the shower. Natasha had gotten back late from a mission with Clint and he was going to let her sleep for as long as she wanted.

The warm water of the shower soothed his chilled skin and aching muscles. The serum kept him from experiencing fatigue, but still after a relaxing run it was nice to have the morning cold chased away by the warm water. Today was going to be a relaxing day. Just him and Natasha, lounging around their house. Maybe doing some much needed chores: fixing the kitchen faucet, doing the laundry, mowing the lawn, planting the flowers he bought yesterday. If they could keep their hands off each other that is. Natasha had been gone for eight days and he missed her. The house always felt so big and empty without her. It was rare that she went on a mission without him. Normally a situation required Captain America's tactical thinking and Black Widow's talent for espionage. Instead, this mission just required Black Widow's intelligence and Hawkeye's marksmanship — not that he had anything against Clint — it was just since Shield fell, it had been him and Natasha on missions. "Oh right," he whispered, turning the water off. Today was  _that_ day. He knew it was when Natasha got back, but he hadn't expected it to be so soon. It almost slipped his mind. He stepped out of the shower, wiped the fog from the mirror and stared at his reflection.

Pepper had called three months ago telling them about what they needed to do, the required paperwork that needed to be filled out. She sent it over and they had dutifully filled it out and gathered the required documents before sending the entire package back to her. Then they waited, and waited, and waited until about a month ago they got a call and scheduled this meeting. He was nervous. He wasn't sure if being born in 1918 would be counted against him, if being a super soldier would hurt his and Natasha's chances. The familiarity of shaving helped calm his anxiety, but now that he had this meeting looming in the foreground, everything about today felt different. Constricted almost, as if he had to put on his best smile and charm everyone. "Nothing to it," he told his reflection. "I sell bonds, bonds buy bullets, bullets kill Nazis." A forced cheesy grin. "Bing bang boom."

Only there were no Nazis to kill. No bonds to sell, no crowd of six to twelve-year-olds cheering as he fake-punched the fake Hitler stalking behind the show girls. No, this meeting was something else entirely. Wiping the last of the shaving cream from his face, he took a quick breath and wrapped the towel around his waist before leaving the bathroom to get dress. Natasha was still sprawled on the bed — pretending to be a sleep — and he didn't spare her a glance as he went over to his dresser.

"You know the towel makes a terrible window," she said. "Also, I missed the song today."

"I didn't sing," he said, opening the drawer and pulling out a white undershirt and a pair of boxers. He dropped the towel — Natasha said something appreciative in Russian; he flushed with pride — and slipped his boxers on, followed by the undershirt.

"You know when I said the towel made a terrible window, I didn't mean put your boxers on," she said, sitting up as he walked over and gave her a kiss. "Come back to bed, I missed you."

"I missed you too," he said, kissing her again. "But we can't."

"Sure we can," she said, fisting her hand in his shirt and pulling him closer. "Nothing on the agenda today. Just you" — a kiss — "and me" — another kiss — "and a big empty house." She kissed him again. "What do you say Rogers?"

"I say that we have a meeting at Avengers Tower at eleven o'clock, and you know how long it takes to get into the city." Gently, he pried her fingers free and kissed each one. "I'm sorry, doll, I'd love to stay in bed with you all day but… we both want this and this… this may be our only way." He gave her a sad smile. "Our only chance."

"We could call Pepper, have her reschedule."

"Nat—"

"I got home at one in the morning! I… I just…  _Steve_  —"

He sat down and wrapped her in a hug. "I know, honey, I know. You can sleep in the car. I'll drive. It sucks, but think about it, if this… if they say yes, then we—"

"I know," she said, resting her chin on his shoulder and nuzzling his neck. "It'll be worth it, I just I hate how the chips landed."

He chuckled rubbing her back and giving her a kiss on the temple. "I'm going to make blueberry pancakes. Get dressed, then we'll head into New York."

"Are you sure you aren't up for a quickie?" she asked, a playful smirk on her lips. He growled, pinning her to the bed. "Oh my," she said, her voice thick with mock fright. "What ever shall I do? I'm at the mercy of a big strong man!"

"You know what Romanoff?" he growled, a seductive smirk on his face. She mirrored it and he kissed her, long and deep. "I'll tell you what's up tonight, promise."

"No fair, making me wait," she said as he got off her. The pouty tone in her voice made him chuckle as he slipped into a pair of jeans and pulled on the nice blue button down she liked so much. "Especially when you wear that shirt."

"Hey, I have to make a good impression," he said with a wink. "See you down in a bit." He blew her a kiss and headed to the kitchen to get breakfast started.

* * *

Tony had let them use his office. Natasha sat in one of the plush leather swivel chairs, tapping her nails on the lacquer surface of the walnut table. He stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the city below. The people from this height looked like ants scuttling about in their anthill. Traffic seemed endless, gridlocked as far as he could see. It was a pretty April day though he could see rain clouds in the distance. The city had exploded in the seventy years he was frozen. Bigger and taller, more people, more shops, more noise and exhaust. Riots of colorful splashes to offset the grey of concrete and black of asphalt. Even the poorer districts didn't feel poor in the way he remembered them. Progress had marched on while he slumbered in the ice.

The door opened, and Natasha called his name. He turned, smiling at the put together woman in her charcoal business suite. "Hi, Captain Rogers, I'm Anna Burke," she said as he shook her hand. "Pleasure meeting you and thank you for coming all this way."

"Pleasure's mine," he said, giving her a boyish smile. "This is my wife, Natasha." He gestured to Natasha, who gracefully stood up and shook the woman's hand before sitting down. He sat down after Anna, and grabbed Natasha's hand, running his thumb over her knuckles. Nervous silence settled over them as they watched Anna pull out the paperwork and other things. Pepper had told them not to get their hopes up, the process could take years — even with a state side agency — but Tony had often accused him of chipper optimism, so it was hard for him to tamp down his hopes (or let it show on his face). Natasha, on the other hand, appeared impassively neutral. Though he knew she was nervous by how tight she was holding his hand.

Anna folded her hands over the paperwork and the silence stretched on uncomfortably for several more moments before she said, "We at Caring Hearts Adoption are really, really pleased — and honored — that Captain America and Black Widow have selected us to help grow your family but" — Anna stopped and tugged loose a paper — "we are unable to recommend you as parents at this time." She handed the piece of paper over and Natasha snatched it from her hand. She read it quickly before handing it over to him. "I'm sorry. We want the best for these children, so our screening process is highly rigorous and while your husband could qualify if he were to retire, you on the other hand Mrs. Rogers—"

"But we're both Avengers!" Natasha said. Steve noted she was trembling. A minute repeating shudder that would have gone unnoticed by anyone other than those that knew her well. It only happened when she was trying to remain calm in the face of overpowering emotions. "I'm an American citizen, I was naturalized years ago. You have letters of recommendation from our closest friends — my best friend lets me babysit his children! What more can you want?"

"Nat." He rubbed her back, trying to calm her down. "Honey, it's okay." That earned him a sharp glare, which she turned onto the poor woman. Anna cleared her throat, squirming in her seat and terrified to continue.

"Mrs. Rogers, you're…. previous actions while you were working for the Russian government… unfortunately was a strong considering factor in rejecting you." Anna sighed, shuffling more papers. "Some of your targets were children" — Anna swallowed — "the children's ward…"

"She's more than made up for that, though," he said, squeezing Natasha's hand. It was a desperate attempt to persuade Anna to reconsider (he wasn't sure if she had that power, but he was damn well going to try), but in his heart of hearts he saw their chance slipping away. Sam had told them any child would be lucky to have them as parents. Bruce said the adoption agency would be stupid not to consider them as parents. Clint was confident that his glowing recommendation of them would counter balance anything in their pasts. It was all for naught. "We're good people," he said, his voice sounding broken and desperate to his ears, "we would give any child a warm and loving home. All we want is a chance to be parents."

For her part, Anna tried to maintain some semblance of sympathy. "I know," she said, laying her hands flat on the desk, "but we have our policy—"

"Screw your policy," Natasha hissed. He could hear the tears in her voice, the ones she was desperately trying to hold back.

"— and the state has its laws," Anna said, unphased by Natasha's outburst. "Our priority is the child's wellbeing and best interests. Thus, the extensive background checks. We want to make sure these children are going to good homes—"

"We have a good home!" Natasha said, standing up. "We're Avengers, heroes! What more goodness can you want?"

"Nat, honey," he said, he tugged her back into her seat and wrapped his arm around her shoulders and laced his fingers with her right hand. "I'm sorry."

"No, no," Anna said, "it happens. I'm sorry that we're rejecting you. I hope you are both successful in your endeavors to build your family." Anna gathered the papers and slipped them back into her briefcase before quietly seeing herself out. As soon as the door was closed, Natasha crawled into his lap and cried. He sighed, running his hand up and down her back.

"I'm sorry Steve," she whispered, tucking herself closer to him. "I'm sorry I can't—"

"Don't think like that, Nat," he said, "I married you knowing full well that I'd never be a father, and besides… I'm not sure if I can be happy with such a life" — he tipped her chin back, so she could look at him — "but I'm willing to try because you make be believe that I can be more than  _just_  Captain America, that I'm more than just my shield." He rubbed her thigh, trying to soothe her. "I love you."

"I just want to give you everything you deserve… that's been owed you." She gave him a sad little smile. "Must be stupid hearing me say that."

"Well," he said, shifting in the chair. "I understand where you're coming from. And I want to give you that too. You had such a hard life Nat, you deserve to have everything too." He kissed her forehead. "Guess this is what being in love is all about."

"Self-sacrificing yourself for another person?" she quirked a smile. "Should be right up your alley Rogers."

"Well." He chuckled, rolling his eyes. "I don't know about that. Self-sacrificing got me into a lot of messes I shouldn't be in" — he smiled at her — "it also brought me to you."

She blushed, tucking her face into the crook of his neck. "Guess you didn't die for nothing after all."

"I like to look on the bright side," he said, "you're a hidden perk for waking up seventy years into the future." He kissed her forehead. "The greatest thing that ever happened to me."

"Better than the serum?" She asked. He paused, thinking about that and squeezed her tight.

"Of course. The serum just brought me to you." He gave her another hug. "We should go tell Pepper and Tony. Maybe they'll have another option." Natasha made a little protesting sound and snuggled into his chest. "Or we can just sit like this for a little bit longer. I don't mind." He tugged her hair loose and ran his fingers through it. "Did I tell you that you looked lovely in this dress?"

"Stop trying to charm me," she grumbled, but he saw the smile tug at the corner of her lips. "Thanks though, I thought it said  _Mom but fun_." She sighed. "Maybe we should just stop. I mean, let's face it: nobody is willingly going to give me a child."

"No," he said, "stop thinking like that right now, Nat." He pushed her back a little and held her gaze. There was fear in her eyes, fear that all this time and effort they are putting into trying to have a child — by any means — would end up for naught. Her past was a blot on their attempt. No matter what she did, the red in her ledger stained everything. "We will have a child. There are other ways now, it's not like adoption is the only option for us. Let's talk to Tony." He gave her a squeeze and stood up, setting her on the ground. Taking her hand, he led her out of the room and into the sleek elevator. "Take us to where Tony is, JARVIS," he said.

"Mr. Stark is currently in his lab, I shall inform him of your arrival," the AI said as it he opened the elevator doors for them. Inside was a short plump woman with glasses and short boyish hair. Steve and Natasha glanced at each other and that at the woman.

"May we help you?" he asked, stepping off to the side to let the woman out. The woman looked around confused. Papers falling out of her arms; Natasha picked up a few of them. The woman's cheeks were red and splotching and she looked a bit winded. "Are you lost?"

"Oh no," she said, "just running late. It was a last-minute thing and then they told me to get to Avengers Tower lickety-split." She laughed, a warm jovial sound. "You know how it is, trying to get anywhere in this city during noon day traffic." She headed into the office. Natasha shrugged and followed her. He followed his wife and took a seat in the office next to her. The plump woman thanked Natasha for the papers and began to organize the mess she had.

They sat there watching her. Steve held Natasha's hand, stroking her knuckles and playing with her fingers. He could feel the tension in his wife's hand, the nervousness about this entire experience. "Steve," she whispered, putting her hand over his. "It's okay." The smile she gave him wasn't reassuring, but he relaxed (or tried to). The plump woman sat down with a long sigh.

"Well, sorry about all that," she said. "I'm Nancy" — she held out her hand and they shook it — "I'm with Angel Hearts Adoption Agency."

"Oh?" he sat up a little straighter. This could be fruitful — he hoped. Maybe this agency will over look Natasha's past and their jobs. "Well, Ms. Potts told us you were one of the best agencies, so we applied. Right honey?" he looked at Natasha.

"Oh yes," she said, easily dawning the mask of a hopeful mother — wide smile, open and hopeful eyes. "We want to make sure we are working with people that care about children just as much as we do."

"Excellent, we at Angel Hearts agree," Nancy said. "And I'm happy to inform you that we are happy to accept you as potential parents."

The breath left him, a smile spread across his face as he looked at Natasha. She kept her joy in better, but still — the wide smile on her face was proof enough that she was thrilled about these turn of events. "We… we can't thank you enough," he said, kissing Natasha's hand. "What's the next step?" he asked.

"We're committed to providing the best possible home for the child," Natasha said, "we were even thinking of retiring from hero work in order to be better parents. West Point has been nagging my husband to come work for their history department for years" — she nudged him — "isn't that right Steve?"

The comment blindsided him a bit. West Point had always been a cover story they gave their neighbours. Sure, sometimes he did make a guest appearance at West Point to lecture on tactics from WWII, and they  _have_ been wanting him to work there, full time. He grinned nonetheless. "Yeah. It'll be great. A normal job as a teacher. My wife plans to work from home—"

"Actually, dear," she said, smiling and giving him a look. "I was planning on being a stay at home mom. I've always wanted a family, children."

"That's an excellent idea, especially since you are both interested in adopting an infant," Nancy said, handing them a thick packet of papers. "You'll need to fill out these forms and once you return them, we'll send someone by to check your house to make sure it's a good home for a child." She smiled. "You both need to put together a potential parent book. It's just something for birth parents to look through and decide upon which parent to give their child too."

"Alright," he said, taking the paperwork and looking through it. "We'll get to you as soon as we can."

"Excellent," Nancy said, "now, I just want to let you know that just because we've accepted you as potential parents doesn't mean that you will get a child any time soon. It's still a waiting game."

"We understand," Natasha said, "but we're just happy because this brings us one step closer to our dream."

"Of course," Nancy said, standing up. They did too. "I understand. Well the sooner you get all the paperwork done the sooner you can have your own little bundle of joy."

"Thank you," Natasha said as Nancy showed herself out. The door to Tony's office closed. A charged silence fell between them before Natasha let out a little squeal and hugged him. "We're gonna be parents, Steve, parents!" she said, laughter bubbling up. He laughed, holding her as she covered his face in kisses. "And I was about ready to give up," she said, cupping his face in her hands. "I'm… I'm so happy." She smiled.

"Me too," he said, "but we gotta remember to not get our hopes up too much. We still have a lot of paperwork to fill out and then we have to wait for someone to actually pick us and—"

"I know," she said, "but we already passed the hard part. Getting accepted." She kissed him again. "We just need to get this potential parent book done and then… well, I mean Sam did say anyone would be stupid not to pick us as parents, right?"

The smile on her face — her hopeful joy — was infectious. Whenever his caution tempered his happiness, she would bound headlong into it. For a woman that lived her life surpassing her emotions, hiding behind golden masks and silver smiles, he was always surprised at how bold she could be when she let the masks down. "One step at a time," he said. He kissed her, sighing into her lips and pulling her close. "But we're closer to starting a family."

"You aren't upset that the child won't be ours… by blood?" she asked, the self-loathing at her sterilization appearing briefly in her eyes. "I mean, I'm sure if we —"

"I'm sure," he said, smiling. "We have one super soldier — me — we don't need anymore."

"Steve—"

When he first received the serum, the thought of having children was the furthest from his mind. Then when he realized he could have a future after the war — a home, Peggy as his wife, a life — he started toying with the idea. A child with the serum, Dr. Erskine's legacy living on through his bloodline. When he told Bucky about his hopes for the future, his friend pointed out that the Red Skull also had Erskine's serum. Erskine had told him that the serum amplified internal qualities too, and though he would raise any child to be a good person, there was no guarantee. If his child wasn't pure of heart… if his child had a streak of cruelty… then the serum would amplify it. He had the potential of fathering another Red Skull — or something worse. He never told Natasha his worry — his fear. "Nat, this is the best way for us to have children. Trust me."

She hung her head. "Right," she whispered, "it doesn't matter. We'll love this child regardless. Family doesn't have to be tied by blood." The smile reappeared on her face, it was less bright and bubbly though. As if her dark past finally dampened her hopeful spirit.

"No," he agreed, "it doesn't." He smiled. "C'mon, let's go celebrate," he said, leaving the room. "I mean… it is something to celebrate. We should go get some Buffalo Wild Wings."

"And spend four hundred dollars?" she arched a brow, a smile spreading across her face, holding his hand as the elevator doors opened for them. "No thanks, besides your wings are better." She nudged him. "Doing anything fun Saturday night?"

"Well," he said, pushing the button for their suite, "since all the members of my barbershop quartet dead" — he smirked, getting lost in her eyes — "no, not really. Unless" — he pulled her close, kissing her while his hand slipped up the skirt of her dress — "you mean you." He shuddered when she moaned. "Then I'm definitely doing something fun Saturday night." He kissed her neck, feeling her chuckle against his lips. The elevator doors rumbled close; the car humming as it descended.

"I can tell," she said, her lips brushing against his. "Well, I wouldn't want to interrupt your exciting Saturday night."

"Who said you'd be interrupting anything. I think you're invited anyway." He grabbed her thighs, easily lifting her up. Her legs wrapped around his waist and she kissed him until he was groaning, and his knees went weak. "Damn, I love you," he said. He felt her smirk into the kiss, a pleasant shiver running down his spine when she raked her fingers through his hair, her nails lightly scratching his scalp.

"How much do you love me, soldier?" she cooed between kisses. He could tell she wore perfume today, the heady scent of jasmine and lilacs mingling with her natural musk triggered his primal desire; he trailed wet slopping kisses down her chest and her exposed cleavage — he loved that she favored low cut necklines.

"Love you so damn much," he murmured against her soft skin. "Gonna take you to bed" — he kissed her collarbone — "get you outta this dress" — sucked on the hollow of her throat until she was mewling — "have my way with you" — his fingers brushed against her panties, his thumb finding the sensitive spot and he couldn't help but smirk when she whimpered his name — "until you're a sexed out mess." He wiggled a finger into panties, groaning softly when he felt how wet she was. She gasped, grinding her hips against his hand; he had to take a few steps to press her against the wall of the elevator — never mind that the elevator had glass walls, and anyone could see (and figure out) what they were doing.

"Steve… oh god, Steve." Natasha tugged at his hair and he just wanted to get out of these clothes (his pants were starting to get tight).

He growled, loving how she whimpered his name. The look on his face ticked his arousal up another notch: cheeks flushed, eyes bright and lips wet and parted, her chest rising and falling with each gasping breathy moan as he fingered her closer and closer to her peak. He pressed kisses to her cheek. "Beautiful," he whispered, "so damn beautiful." Finally, wiggling his finger into her wet folds, Natasha let out a long groan.

"Right there, baby, right there—" she keened in delight, but it was muffled by the ding of the elevator.

They heard a sputtering sound and he nearly dropped Natasha. Thank goodness his wife was a spy with lighting reflexes. She pushed him away and tugged her dress down, while he summoned a mental picture of Colonel Philips in a pink tutu (he tugged his pants and stepped behind Natasha for more cover). Tony was staring at them with fresh coffee stains on his otherwise ratty white t-shirt. Tony wiped his lips with his hand. "Well, then…" he began, "you two aren't the ones I expected to be so" — he paused, thinking — "voyeuristic." He sipped what was left of his coffee. "Next time you two want to do things in public, maybe you want to consider not doing it in a  _glass elevator_ ," he said, stressing the last two words. He rolled his eyes and made a left, heading for the stairs. "Go home and get a room."

Natasha grabbed Steve's hand an they hopped out of the elevator. "Aren't you going down Stark?" she called.

"I'll take the stairs, thanks." He called over his shoulder before entering the stairwell. Steve looked at her and started laughing. He never had any close calls like that, even with Natasha, they had always kept their PDA to a safe and family friendly level. There was a certain thrill about it now — getting it on in a glass elevator — the risk of getting caught, of people watching them — there was something exciting about it. He almost wanted to do it again, but this time go further. He quirked a brow and looked at Natasha with an easy smirk on his face.

"Think home's too far?" he asked. They were on their floor, their personal suite only a few feet away.

"Yeah," she said, grabbing his hand and leading him to their suite. "It is."

**Author's Note:**

> MCU (c) Marvel Studios
> 
> So I started this right after I saw Endgame or there abouts. This is a spin-off or sorts from my Christmas fic Keepsake. In this we'll be exploring miscarraiges, premature births, lost of a child and the strain it puts on a marriage. This also further explains the opening of chapter 6 in Keepsake, and why it took them three years for James to be born.
> 
> Save an author; leave a review.


End file.
